We're Number One! We're Number One! Newsweek magazine, certainly credible, in their August 23 & 30, 2010 issue profiled countries to find out which one was the best country.

My first thought before reading the issue was that New Zealand might win. Then I wondered if Canada might edge them out and finally I mused about Tristan de Cunha, a place on my bucket list of places to see before...well, while I still can.

Newsweek rhetorically asks, "If you were born today, which country would provide you the very best opportunity to live a healthy, safe, reasonably prosperous, and upwardly mobile life?" To my delight and surprise, my own ancestral home won the big number one position. Finland. Go figure.

Again, according to Newsweek, "the best countries tend to be small, rich, safe, and cold." That's Finland all right. Especially the cold part.

Newsweek attempted to justify why, not just Finland, but Nordic countries in general, did so well in the Newsweek profile. They write, "The link between freezing and a high ranking becomes more explicable when the following dots are connected: a heated classroom is better than being outside chopping trees, hence education is important; moving briskly is good preventive medicine, thus health is robust; quality of life improves immensely when one must get as close to one's beloved as possible to fend off the chill; the political environment is likewise better when governance is kept simple and equitable because it's too cold to fight in the streets; and finally, economic dynamism is bound to be high among peoples who have learned to combat frostbite with a maximum of movement and the least expense of calories.

"A large portion of Finland's well-being is also the result of its historical reputation for fierceness and diplomacy; it has had to fight and appease both the Russians and the Germans."

The world's best countries, Newsweek continues, "avoid war, they live in the dark, and they maintain a steady state of...productive activity."

And they end up being Number One, the Best of the Best.

We're Number One! And that's what I think about it.

A notice in today's paper invited alumnae of the class of 1945 to attend their high school reunion.
That would make class members what, about 83, 84?

Also in today's paper was today's menu for school luncheons. Selections included pizza, french fries, ranch dressings and other potato selections.

At this nutritional rate it is unlikely that anyone in the class of 2011 will make it to their 65th reunion in 2076.

And that's what I think about it.

We met friends for yesterday's memorial service for Cheryl (see previous post). The friends consisted of: one dad, pastor of a church in Lexington, his six-year-old daughter and his three remaining quadruplets who are four. We were slightly outnumbered I thought.

They had driven the three and a half hours it took to get to the church for the service. Then after a potty break and hair repair we greeted the family.

Then off to IHOP for breakfast before the 1:00 PM service. At IHOP each of the four ordered and devoured kids' meals of pancakes, eggs and bacon and washed this down with orange juice. They never left their chairs, never begged to leave, just colored and drew and ate.

Back to the service. We found seats conducive to a quick exit for dad should the need arise. Each of us sat between kids (thinking back I should have been between Jim and whoever).

The service was lovely and fitting and an emotional look at Cheryl's life in Afghanistan coupled with a song she had written and sung to her teammates there. Many people spoke, lots of people actually, some with more stage presence than others, all with a deep appreciation for the life Cheryl had lived and the impact she had on them.

However, the service, which started at 1:00 PM was not finished until 3:30 PM. Long by any standards.

You are know wondering what the little ones were doing all this time.

First they colored, carefully placing crayons back in the tub so as to minimize noise; the six-year-old, read the program of the service a couple of times, and then after coloring and drawing, they curled up and listened to the speakers. No one fell asleep, no one whined to go potty, no one fidgeted (outside of me and Jim and we were held at bay by the kids' behavior); not one, "Are we almost done?" (except again from Jim who mouthed the words to me over the tops of attentive heads).

Parenting is an art, a calling, a career and a passion. Doing it well takes commitment. Our friends have all of that and this has produced the kids I have written about in this post. Amazing. I can't wait to see what each of them does with their life. And oh, did I mention that one of the kids' middle name is Patricia....she may be my favorite.

And that's what I think about it.

It was a senseless act in a senseless war zone in a country that makes little sense to most of us in the western world. Massacred after spending weeks aiding people with eye diseases and teaching children how to use toothbrushes, something they had never seen before. Selfless humanitarians helping the least of humanity.

And Cheryl was one of them.

She had a eye for photography and made beautiful and rugged Afghanistan come alive in pictures. She had a way with words that could capture emotion. In her last newsletter, dated just before she left with the team for the Nuristan province of Afghanistan, she wrote:

"Greetings from a peaceful and warm Central Asia. Today finds me catching up and reflecting on a busy but rich couple of months...There have been threats and concerns that have come and gone...Life and death have both been tasted again."

She placed a quote from Eddie Askew in this update. It read in part, "Lord, if this is where you want me, I am content. No, not quite true. I wish it were. All I can say, in honesty, is this: If this is where I'm meant to be, I'll stay. And try. Just let me feel your hands. And Lord, for all who hurt today - hurt more than me - I ask for strength and that flicker of light the warmth that says You're there."

Her family wrote, after hearing of her death, "Cheryl loved and respected the Afghan people...She was honored to be included in this most recent three-week medical journey to the remote populations of Northern Afghanistan....The wickedness of terrorism is being conquered through daily acts of mercy...Those who committed this act of terror should feel the utter shame and disgust that humanity feels for them."

My heart goes out to her parents. I remember them sitting in my Sunday school class when they were yet in high school. I remember playing cards with her grandparents on weekends at my in-laws' home. My husband remembers growing up around Cheryl's great-grandparents.

This is a fine family. It is an honor to know them. And that's what I think about it.

While Jim was in Ukraine last week I cleaned out cupboards, dressers and closets.

You might remember, last year while he was in Ukraine I cleaned out the garage and Jim's den. That endeavor was not well-received when Jim returned. I had thrown out some of his prize possessions: three banker's boxes full of used golf balls. This year I decided to concentrate on my own stuff.

And stuff I found all right!

I like to write and over the years have filled many journals. But last week discovered 12 brand new, beautiful ones, some still in their packaging. These were either gifts or purchases, the gift giver or myself assuming that I had some wisdom that needed to be preserved on the pristine pages. The pages continue unadulterated.

I found 43 T-shirts, most of which I sent off to Goodwill and eight pairs of shoes that either did not fit or never did. Cute but painful shoes. Goodwill. Purses from years past, some purchased at yard sales or art fairs, but never carried. One was red and white striped; another had the word Amsterdam written all over it, a souvenir from a trip to the city with the same name. Goodwill.

In the kitchen I found six frying pans, all of similar size and an assortment of 32 glass lids.

I tried to remember when the last time was that I bought jars of spices and then tried to determine how long the freezer was expected to preserve others. They all got tossed.

After four trips to Goodwill in as many days, the worker who helped unload the car each time welcomed me as a friend.

Jim returns tomorrow evening and my reduction of possessions is completed for this week; however, as I look around, the house yet looks full of stuff. How can this be? Is it some sort of optical illusion? Where did all this stuff come from? I blinked and the house was full again.

I don't know what to think about this.

The cat is under the bed.

Several miles away thunder rumbles.

Friends on Facebook bemoan not being able to mow the grass today because of impending showers.

The cat slinks to my side, low moan escaping his throat.

Truly, the phrase scaredy cat comes from this sort of behavior.

And that's what I think about it.